


Regrets

by sunflower_crown



Category: Senyuu.
Genre: 2nd Person, Angst, M/M, Modern AU, for a while, much angst, ross is in a gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_crown/pseuds/sunflower_crown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark night when you met him.  But in that instant, when you reached your hand out to him, your world became so much brighter.  Before you knew it, you had fallen for him.  Those days were the happy ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> this fandom needs more love.  
> A BIG THANK YOU TO MY BETA jam_jam

 

“ . . . and then that idiot Crea walked right into it! Maybe if he wasn’t such an airhead he wouldn’t have walked into my knife,” you say with a sneer. Without waiting for an answer, you continue. “You should have seen his face. But that’s what he gets for being so careless,” you say, and although your tone is harsh, your brows came together with worry.

“Almost as dumb as you, huh Alba?” you ask.

A warm breeze ruffles your hair, and you look at the city from his spot on the hill. It was then that the memories come rushing back.

 

* * *

 

It was a rough night; something had been going on with the boss and his parents. You watched as he paced back and forth, his subordinates watching him with nervous tension. They probably took away his xbox or something. No wonder, though—you doubted any parent would react kindly to their son being the leader of a gang. Even if it was a small one like yours.

But you knew from experience what this pacing meant. He wanted money, but he also wanted violence. Tonight would be a mugging night.

You look over to your friend Crea. It was his idea to join, since you were just bored and needed a distraction. It wasn't really your thing. You didn’t need the money, and the only person you even tolerated here was Crea.

Soon the boss had given the command, and you pulled yourself up lazily from your seat. You walked the streets, while your gang searched for their next target. They passed a short figure on the street, and when your leader turned around, you could see a glint in his eye.

Everyone began to slowly turn around, following the silent command. The group silently stalked the figure while you strolled along behind them. The figure was abruptly pulled into the next alley they passed, and you went to go take your usual seat. You never seemed to get the satisfaction that the rest did from beating random strangers senseless, so you just usually sat these out.

"W-what do you guys want?" a shaky voice said from the middle of the circle of goons.

"Money. Keys. Hand over everything ya got or we'll beat your ass," said a low voice, followed by a round of hideous chuckles.

"N-no! I-I won’t give in to people like you!"

For a moment, there was a parting in the circle and you could clearly see their victim. It was a boy, a high school student, maybe a couple years younger than you. A mop of fluffy brown hair sat on his head. He was somewhat small in stature, but he had his shoulders back and his eyes shined with courage. Even so, you could see the barely controlled shaking of his hands.

Seeing him standing there, something inside you flickered. You found yourself leaning forward, waiting to see what what would happen next.

"What did you say, you little shit!?" your leader yelled, enraged. He pulled his fist back and you watched the boy's eyes widen. For a moment, you could have sworn his eyes met yours. Suddenly you felt ice form in the pit of your stomach. Before you could move, the boy was flat on his back, clutching his swelling eye.

Even now, you aren't exactly sure why you reacted the way you did. When you came to your senses, you were holding up the leader by the collar of the shirt, his goons dispersed across the ground.

"Leave. Him. Alone," you growled out. "Or do you want to die?" You gave him your best death glare and he ran off down the street, his lackeys tagging along behind him.

After watching them go, you turned to the boy in the alley.

"Hey, kid. What's your name?" you barked, walking over and kneeling in front of the boy.

"A-alba?" he asked, probably still a little stunned. You felt a smirk cross your face and you leaned closer.

"Oh? Did that guy hit you so hard you can't even remember your own name? Wow, and here I thought you were the big hero," you said mockingly, enjoying the indignation that washed over his face.

"Wh-wha!? I was just standing my ground! They were committing a crime! I couldn't just let them get away with it!" he shouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

But you had had enough of his attitude. All humor fell away as you leaned in closer and looked him directly in the eye, staring him down.

"And what makes you think you had the strength to beat them, huh? You were outnumbered and severely outmatched. A toothpick like you? Not in a million years. Get these delusions of heroism out of your head and _face the facts_. You're _weak_."

He sat there stunned for a minute, but then his face suddenly flushed with anger. "You—," he started, but you cut him off with a hand pressed over his mouth. You gave him a warning look before continuing.

"So therefore, I will train you," you said slowly, as if talking to a child. _What was I_ saying? you thought. _Why would I offer to train a brat like this?_ But even so, the thought brought a certain warmth, one that was hard to explain.

And so, your friendship began.

 

* * *

 

Every week after school you would meet for physical training. Every time, you would practically run him into the ground with drills. You expected him to give up, but he always came back. He steadily improved over time, but with each passing day you found yourself more and more worried. _What if he isn’t strong enough? What if he gets in another dangerous situation and I’m not there to help him?_

You also began to notice some other things changing. You found yourself anticipating each meeting, and your heart stuttered every time he showed you that bright smile of his. He also seemed to occupy your thoughts more and more often. Most of the time, you would worry about him. He was so naive, so fragile, but that stupid sense of justice would get him killed someday.

When you were together, you felt invincible, and light as air. Was . . . was that happiness you felt? But when you were alone, you felt . . . empty.

These feelings were strange and foreign, but the longer you knew him the more confusing these things became. You felt a surge of fondness whenever he tried to argue with you, and more than once you caught your eyes lingering a moment too long. You took this frustration out on him, and the training intensified. Oddly enough, so did the emotions.

There was that time you extended your hand to help him up. It had been a rather brutal sparring session, and the boy had been knocked flat on his back. You chuckled as you bent over, reaching out your hand. He took the hand with a grumble. You felt like teasing him for his proud attitude, but suddenly something changed. When your skin made contact, so did your eyes. The touch sent a shock through your body and heat rushed to your face. Trying to hide your embarrassment, you dropped his hand and walked away. He protested as he landed back on the ground, but you were too preoccupied sorting out the emotions clamoring in your chest.

You began to notice these little instances happen more and more frequently as time passed. When your shoulder accidentally brushed his, or when you caught yourself staring. Especially those times when his eyes would light up when he saw you.

You soon found yourself yearning. For what, you weren't exactly sure. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you didn't know how. You wanted to say something, but the right words never came. All of this was beginning to drive you mad. How could this little brat do so much to you?

 

* * *

 

One night, an answer came. After usual training, he had asked you if you wanted to take a walk with him. It was out of the ordinary, but you complied. You noticed something was off. He was fidgeting, and wouldn't meet your eyes, but you chose to say nothing. He carefully sat down on the nearest bench and you plopped down next to him. After much small-talk and awkward silences, he finally got to the matter at heart.

With a deep breath, he told you everything. How he hated you at first for your cockiness, and only wanted to defeat you. You had aggravated him so the first few weeks. How he slowly became more and more fond of you over time, anticipating each meeting more than the last. And now, how he had fallen in love with you. He was offering his heart to you. Now, however, it was your turn.

The sudden confession stunned you, to say the least. At the moment, you were still trying to sort through the muddle of emotions in your own mind. Your heart jumped at the chance to accept, but your head told you not to be careless, and to not jump to conclusions.

And then there was that other matter.

You had technically been kicked out of the gang that day, but you knew the leader. If your intuition was right, he would come back for his revenge soon. He was a very prideful man, and the one thing he hated more than anything was being shown up, especially by a subordinate. And besides him, there were other people and gangs that held a grudge against you. After all, you hadn't exactly led the most peaceful life.

All of these forces posed a threat. One you weren't willing to risk. It was fine if they attacked you, you were confident you could handle yourself. But if they ever attacked _him_ , especially when you weren't around to protect him, you couldn't live with yourself. You knew your answer, and you knew what you had to do.

Coming out of your reverie, you looked directly at him. Hope swirled in his warm brown eyes, and you almost lost your resolve right then. But when you recovered, you forced a smile, and then a laugh. You played it all off as a joke. It was the only thing you could think of at the moment, and what else could you possibly do?

But when you caught his expression out of the corner of your eye, it felt like your heart had just been ripped from your chest.

You both eventually got up and went your separate ways. You walked away, feet getting heavier with each step. In the end, you couldn’t help but turn around, and your eyes lingered on the slowly disappearing figure.

“I’m sorry.”

 

* * *

 

He didn't come back to training for a while. Something about an "illness" or having errands to run. You almost went to see him once, but you lost your courage at the front door. Every day was filled with regret and cold loneliness.

When he did finally come back, your encounters were terse and awkward. Training sessions were no longer an enjoyable time between friends. Often times you found yourself thinking of ditching just to avoid the confrontation.

But there was something that kept you there. After all these weeks of him being a no-show, you still felt a spark of warmth when your eyes met his. These feelings worried you constantly, now that you had a name to them. You often found yourself lying awake in bed, trying to talk some sense into your heart.

Even then, you knew it was pointless. That heart no longer belonged to you. It belonged in the arms of the brown-haired boy with the brightest smile you had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Months passed and very little had changed. One thing that had, however, was his constantly improving ability. He probably no longer needed your training, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to let him go. He had yet to mention anything, and you figured that if he was content with the current situation you would keep your mouth shut.

The other change was that you began to spend time together outside of training. It happened one day when you could tell something was getting him down, so you casually asked if he wanted to drop by the arcade. Since then, you often set time aside for each other, whether it be the arcade (which you quite thoroughly beat him at, though you had to admit he was a quick learner), getting lunch, or just hanging out at home.

The concept of “just friends” was frustrating to you at times, but you soon learned to cope with it. In your mind, just being able to spend time with him on a daily basis like this was a blessing in and of itself.

And thats how the days passed, in joy and contentment. Those days were probably the happiest of your life. But, just as you knew it would, all good things must come to an end.

 

* * *

 

You ran through the dark streets, never more terrified than in that moment. At two that morning, you had gotten a disturbing call from Crea. When you had left the gang that day, he had decided to stay, against your warnings. You were worried that if you weren't there to protect him, he would get into trouble. And it seemed that was exactly what he had done.

The first thing you did when you got the news was call him. You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you felt that he needed to be here too. But that was an hour ago. You two had split up to cover more ground, against your better judgement. He promised that he would have his cell phone on him, but you couldn’t help the expanding pit of worry at the bottom of your stomach.

Just as you turned the corner of the next alley, your phone buzzed. Before you could blink, you had the phone pressed to your ear. It was him. He had found Crea.

You felt the relief wash through your shoulders and told him you would be there soon. Your friend was safe, and this would all be over soon. If _this_ didn’t get Crea to leave the gang, you were going to have to beat it into him, the numbskull.

But just as you started jogging off in the direction of your friend, he said something that chilled your bones.

“Ross, they have a gun.”

The line went silent and so did your mind. Your legs flew across the pavement faster than you thought possible. Adrenaline rushed through your veins as your heart beat fiercely against your ribcage. The icy air of the night tore at your lungs, but everything was numb in comparison to the ravaging storm inside your head.

Crea was your best friend, and you had known him all your life. He was more of a brother than some of your actual family. You had never known life without him.

Alba. He meant more to you than he ever knew—than you ever knew yourself. Sure, he was reckless and careless, but he was one of the kindest and bravest people you had ever met. You had grown so attached to his presence that you could hardly remember what life was like without him.

And now both of these people were in danger. Your mind worked impossibly fast, creating scenarios and detailed, disastrous images of what you might find when you turned the corner. Your heart felt like it would burst as the alley came into sight. Your legs raced impossibly faster and you were almost there. It was so close that you could hear shouting coming out of the alley.

And then you heard a bang.

 

Your heart dropped through your feet.

 

You rounded the corner, and what you saw there . . .

 

 

was worse than anything you could have ever imagined.

 

* * *

 

A heavy sigh escaped your lips and you leaned back against the cold stone. It was a beautiful day, and the flowers you held were even more so. But for some reason, they just looked dull and grey.

In that moment, you saw everything that could have been. If you had just told him the truth, you would have gone on your first date by then. You would have shared so many laughs. You could have gone out and seen that dumb movie he seemed so excited about. Maybe after saving up some money, you could have taken him out to a nice dinner and seen how his face lit up at the taste.

In time, maybe you would have gotten over your stupid pride and proposed. Crea would slap you on the back and congratulate you. You would tease him for crying at his own wedding. You would chuckle and he would get mad, but he would forgive you anyway.

Years passed in that second and soon you felt a hot wetness rolling down your cheeks. Your vision blurred but you didn’t care. You simply rested your head on the stone behind you, the gravestone of the one you loved.

“I-I . . . love you.” The words meant nothing now, but you choked them out anyway.

 

"Alba, just c-come back here . . . you idiot . . ."

 


End file.
